


So Bright, The Flames Burn In Our Heart (That We Found Each Other In The Dark)

by sarcastic_fina



Series: Life, Love, and The Undead [1]
Category: Smallville, Vampire Diaries (TV)
Genre: Crossover, F/M, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-09
Updated: 2012-06-09
Packaged: 2017-11-07 08:47:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,708
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/429126
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sarcastic_fina/pseuds/sarcastic_fina
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Life on the road, chasing a new mystery whenever it presents itself, brings Chloe to a backwaters pub where she meets a handsome, brooding vampire in need of self control and friendship; they both get more than they bargained for.</p>
            </blockquote>





	So Bright, The Flames Burn In Our Heart (That We Found Each Other In The Dark)

  


Chloe's luck really was something of a legend, it being as bad as it was. And when it came to men, it seemed her luck was never worse.

Enter Stefan Salvatore in a remote backwater pub, where the buzz of flies was followed by the zap of them getting too close to the neon light of fatal attraction. Chloe was fairly sure if she tried hard enough, she might even hear the gators in the swamp not too far away. What brought her here was the ever elusive mystery; the elusive part being that there was always another one she was desperate to solve almost as soon as she stamped a 'Case Closed' sticker on the last.

What brought him to the bar was, alas, heartbreak.

And Chloe, being, well, _Chloe_ couldn't help but lend a shoulder. Unfortunately, it was later a few inches higher that he was focused on. But when she first spotted him, a sweating beer bottle wrapped in his long fingers and that forever brooding expression on his handsome face, something inside her _clicked_. Maybe it was nostalgia over a just-as-broody alien best friend she'd been in love with, what seemed, a lifetime ago. Or maybe it was just one of those itches of hers, added to curiosity and danger, that she never could scratch enough to sate her. But before she knew it, she'd taken a seat on the stool one over from his, her eyes darting from the bottles of all shapes, sizes, and colors lining shelves across a mirrored background, dusty with age and lack of use, to the thin-eyed glare he was giving his own reflection.

Her eyes washed over him, from the carefully coiffed brown hair, styled up like he ran his fingers through it so often that it just stayed that way, to the tanned skin and strong, square jaw that flexed every few minutes. His thick, dark eyebrows were drawn heavy above sharp, blue-green eyes. Her gaze dipped to his mouth, lips set in a firm line, but when she found herself focusing on how pink, how full they were, she forced her eyes down, away. The dark, button-up shirt he wore stretched across the length of his shoulders, drooping heavy with some yet unknown burden.

She swore she heard him chuckle before it even exited his throat. Her eyes darted back up to find him staring at her through the mirror, his lips quirked on one side before they were wrapped around the mouth of his beer bottle.

"Was I staring?" she asked, half-smiling back. "It's a habit."

"Really?" He licked his lips as he dropped the bottle back to the bar and turned his tipped head to look at her. "And the drooling?"

She laughed, brows raised high. "Going for the throat, that quick?" She shook her head and reached up to dab humorously at the corners of her mouth.

He ducked his head, smiling.

"I'm a reporter," she explained. "Or… I _was_ one… And then it became a sort-of freelance thing and _then_ …" She thought of how she'd gone from writing for The Daily Planet to chasing an investigative reporter spot to letting her curiosity get the better of her, chasing story after story and forgetting about the byline it might grab. "Then I just sort of forgot about the writing part and focused on the investigating…" She shrugged. "And for awhile there, I was even a counselor. So you can see how curiosity might get me into these kinds of situations."

"That's too bad," he said, gaze set on his beer bottle.

She raised a brow wonderingly. "Because…?"

"For a second there…" He looked over at her, a vague tilt to his lips suggesting a smile, and searched her face. "I was flattered."

She grinned slowly. " _Well_ , if it makes you feel better, my curiosity is rarely peaked for just _anybody_ …"

He nodded. "It does."

She turned in her seat, resting the heel of her boot on the ledge of the stool between them. "So what's your story then?" Her eyes wandered him quickly, taking in how his shirt hugged his biceps and down his torso, seeming to fit as if tailor-made. She pointed a finger knowingly. "I'm going to take a wild-guess and say you _aren't_ a local…"

He raised a brow, puckering his lips. "Really? What gave me away?"

She looked around the run-down bar pointedly and he turned on his stool, his eyes following the path hers had. There were all of four gentlemen, and she used the term lightly, filling the room, and one was the barkeep. One man was snoring, hand still around his mug of, by now, warm beer, head leaned back against an ancient jukebox that she was fairly sure wasn't even plugged in. Another had a table full of peanut shells, piled up all around him; he was using them to create some weird collage on the beat-up wood tabletop. And the third was talking to his ex-wife, who wasn't there at the moment, but apparently when drunk he liked to tell her everything he never got a chance to when they were married. The last, the bartender, was a thick man, wearing a stained white t-shirt that stretched across his wide midsection, with holes here or there, having seen better days. He hadn't said a word to anybody, just raising a brow for their order, handing it over, and returning to his seat next to the cash register, where he was reading The DaVinci Code, of all things. While she couldn't say he looked like the type, people had a way of surprising her still.

But that didn't mean she thought the man sitting next to her fit in here in any capacity. He stuck out as much as she did, though she'd traded in her pencil skirt and blouse for a comfortable pair of dark wash jeans and a red, spaghetti strapped tank-top, the damp heat that permeated the air practically demanding something light and comfortable.

"All right, I'm seeing your point," he agreed, turning back around. "You're right. I'm… _passing through_ ," he said, with some amusement.

"Really? The town's _luxurious_ tourist spot hasn't convinced you to pick up and move?" she said in mock surprise.

He snorted, lips parting to show a flash of white teeth as he smiled. "Not exactly."

"I don't know…" She gazed around the old, wood shack of a bar, with its cheap, peeling wall paper, and dusty, rarely-swept floor. The stools they were sitting on were probably sturdier than the building itself; the walls seeming paper thin, the windows ready to fall from their precarious perches in rickety sills. "It holds a certain… _charm_."

"Yeah, the _cheap_ kind," he replied, brows flashing.

She grinned. "Depending on who you are, that could be the best kind."

He smirked, shaking his head. "I'm afraid I'm destined to just be a tourist around here…" He looked over at her from the corner of his eyes. "And you? You said you were a journalist, the kind who seems to be chasing mystery wherever it takes her…" He eyes darted back and forth between hers. "No roots anywhere?"

She shrugged. "I used to. Metroplis, Smallville, Metropolis again."

"A Kansas girl," he mused, nodding. "How'd you like small-town life?"

"It was…" She darted her eyes away thoughtfully, brow furrowing. "Surprisingly interesting."

He laughed shortly. "Yeah, I can relate."

"And where is…" She paused. "The mysterious tourist I haven't asked the name of, _from_ exactly?"

He turned in his seat to face her better, tapping one hand on the bar and holding out the other for her to shake. Her eyes dropped to where a silver and blue ring rested on his middle finger, bearing a crest and a large S. "Stefan," he introduced himself.

Her arm stretched toward him. "Chloe," she returned.

As their skin met, she felt a zing run through her that jolted, snapping the breath right out of her lungs. She didn't let go, however, curiosity ever too strong for her to simply pull back and ignore it. Forehead wrinkled, brows drawn, she stared at their hands but couldn't imagine what could have caused it.

"That was… _weird_ ," she muttered.

Stefan cleared his throat and drew his hand back. "Mystic Falls."

"Huh?" She looked up at him, confused.

"I, uh…" He reached up and scratched behind his ear. "I'm from Mystic Falls."

"Oh." Remembering what she'd asked, she nodded. She thought back on her high school geography class and snapped her fingers before pointing at him triumphantly. "Small town Virginia."

"Yeah." He hiked his brows, lips pressed in a frown. "And it had its share of excitement."

She smiled. "I have a feeling I have you beat on that aspect. I don't think anywhere on this _planet_ probably had quite as much… _excitement_ as Smallville."

He tipped his heads, eyes narrowing. "Really?" His eyes wandered over her face, that vague smile of his returning. "I'm willing to put that to the challenge."

"Is that so?" She lifted her beer to take a long drag and then dropped the bottle down to the counter with a snap. "All right…" She rested her elbow on the bar and nodded. "Challenge accepted."

He licked his lips and waved a hand at her accommodatingly. "Ladies first."

She raised a brow. " _Possession_ ," she said.

Instead of derision or disbelief, his lips curled and he gave a short nod of acceptance.

It wasn't long before they were leaning toward each other, or the subject had changed to much shadier, less believable standards.

"Does it count if I was also _possessed_ by a witch?" she wondered. Shrugging, she shook her head. "Technically, witches should still have their own category, right?"

He snorted. "Oh, they definitely deserve it."

She raised a brow in question, but he ignored it. Instead, he took a moment to think it over, his lips pursed.

"Don't tell me you've run out of small-town-weird already?" she teased, smiling. "Because I'm just at the tip of the iceberg here…"

His eyes dropped, seeming to think it over a moment, and his smile all but vanished. Finally, he raised his gaze to hers and said quiet seriously, " _Vampires_."

"Really?" Her eyes narrowed. "We're not talking rare-strain of rabies, curable virus, are we? Like honest-to-God vampires?"

He shrugged slightly, turning his face away. "I don't know if 'honest' is the adjective I'd use," he returned. "But they're as real as ever…" His eyes skittered back to her, watching, waiting for a reaction; negative or hysterical, she imagined.

"Well I can't say I'm _surprised_ …" she mused.

"No?"

She smiled. "Like I said… _Tip_ of the iceberg…"

He nodded. "Let's hear a few stories then. You boast a good game." He pointed at her, brows hiked. "But I want details."

"My pleasure," she told him, grinning. "And while my writing skills are a little on the rusty side, I'd like to think my memory and story-telling abilities are as sharp as ever." She winked at him, crossing her leg over her other knee.

For a moment, she wondered where to even start, there were so many options, so many stories, but then, she simply decided that the beginning was where any story should begin, so she went all the way back to when she was just thirteen, with a crazy crush on boy-next-door-archetype Clark Kent, and the weird happenings of Smallville were what made farm-life-central anything but a snooze.

Stefan was a good listener; he laughed, a deep rumbling sound that emanated from his chest, he looked genuinely surprised even concerned during certain near-death-experiences, of which there were many, and he leaned in at every interesting point. A sort of freedom was found for Chloe, sharing her insane youth with someone who instead of scoffing at her or looking for the nearest exit to escape her deranged ramblings, rather encouraged her into telling another one. Long past the other patrons leaving, Stefan sat with his head perched on his hand, elbow on the counter, just listening to her stories, watching with some amusement the way her hands moved as she talked. She wasn't sure if maybe small towns just had a way of being weird or what, but she thought she might've found a kindred spirit in Stefan. And what a handsome one he made.

The stool that sat between them seemed like a larger barrier than it actually was. She was a hand-talker with exaggerated arm motions and Stefan was a leaner, eventually sitting with his elbows on his knees and his shoulders hunched as he listened; she imagined if they were side by side they would be far into each other's personal space. After a couple beers and hours spent sharing their life stories, she was beginning to think being in his personal space wouldn't be a bad thing.

"And that would be about the time I realized that 'normal,' 'boyfriend,' and 'Smallville' were anything but synonymous," she laughed.

He grinned, nodding his head. "You're a great story-teller," he told her. "I feel like I was actually there while it was happening."

Her eyes widened. "Then I'm sorry for your emotional trauma."

He chuckled, ducking his head. Licking his lips, he drew a breath. "When you were trapped… Buried in the ground…"

She nodded.

"It must've been terrifying… Being that close to death."

"It was…" She thought back to how it felt like the air was thinning, getting too warm; how each breath seemed emptier than the last. "But then I eventually got used to that feeling."

"You might just be a little immortal," he mused. "With how many times you've escaped death."

Amused, she shrugged. "I think I've maxed out the nine-lives quota."

"So, where were your _parents_ when all of this was happening?" he wondered, waving two fingers at the bartender, who, after huffing, forced to put his book down yet again, climbed from his stool and gathered up the two bottles to drop in front of them before returning to his place behind the register.

Chloe wrinkled her nose. "Well, my mother left when I was young…" She let out a long breath, memories of Moira filtering through her mind, young and old, good and bad. Sighing, she turned her eyes to the bottle as she tried to snap the cap off. "For the longest time, I thought she was in a psych ward and eventually, one day, I'd just…" She snapped her fingers. "Lose it."

He stared at her hand a long moment before taking the bottle from her and unscrewing the top swift and easy. "That must've been difficult," he said, his voice low, heavy. "Fearing that moment that you might lose control of yourself…"

She nodded. "It was. It was… _terrifying_."

His eyes met hers. "But she wasn't? In a psych ward?"

"Oh, she was…" She nodded before letting out a slightly bitter laugh. "Just not for the reasons I thought." She shrugged, raising the bottle to take a swig. Licking her lips, she asked him, "You remember I told you about the meteor shower and how it… gave people these—" Her eyes narrowed, "These powers?"

"Yeah." He nodded. "Most of the time, it came with a heavy price-tag of sanity and common sense."

She snorted. "Yeah, later traded for a toe-tag or a one-way ticket to Belle Reve."

"Then, your mom?" He frowned, searching her face. "She was infected?"

"Yes… With the ability of _control_ , even." She shook her head, scoffing. "Weird, right? How I was always waiting for the day I _wouldn't_ have control and there she was with an abundance of it."

"But _what_ did she control?"

"People… The infected." She shrugged. "Anybody with a little green rock flowing in their bloodstream were just puppets on a string for her."

His brows furrowed thickly. "But she put herself way?"

"She didn't want to hurt anybody…" she all but whispered. _She didn't want to hurt me_ , went unsaid.

But she thought, as Stefan stared at her thoughtfully, handsome face now clear of confusion, he might've figured that part out all on his own.

"Anyway, she was moved to a safer facility after it became all too clear that her abilities meant the interest of a Luthor." She turned her eyes toward her beer bottle. "I used to visit her; she's in Star City now…" She shook her head. "But it's been awhile since I've been out that way."

"You miss her," he said, not a question but a statement.

"Can you miss someone you hardly remember?" she wondered. "I… I was a kid when she left and even when we met again, it was like…" She sighed. "I don't know. Family, right? You love them, it's natural, but maybe a part of me just can't forgive her for not being there when I was growing up…" She scoffed. "Then again, my dad wasn't exactly winning Father of the Month either."

Stefan stared at her while she forcibly kept her eyes on the beer label she picked away at with her fingernail.

"Family has a way of disappointing you even when you think you've stopped caring," he muttered darkly.

She turned to look at him, and that hollow broodiness was filling his face once more.

"So that's what's got you filling a seat here," she mused. "Parents or sibling?" She frowned. "Unless you have a kid out there. Although you look a little young for that…"

He snorted. "Not as young as you think," he said, before tipping his beer back. Licking his lips, he leaned on the bar counter. "And it's my brother."

"Right, you mentioned him… Uh…" She snapped her fingers, trying to find it. "Darren?" She wrinkled her nose, knowing that wasn't it.

" _Damon_ ," he supplied, before finishing off his beer in one long swallow.

"Wow…" She watched him drop the empty bottle to the counter with a clink. "That is _some_ sibling rivalry you two must have…"

He snorted, drumming his hands down on the bar a couple times. "You could say that…"

She stared at him searchingly before giving a nod. "Parents' attention or a girl?" she asked, tone steady, even though there was a little part of her, a bitter part, that wondered if she would ever meet a man she liked who wasn't already in love with someone else, and always someone unattainable.

"Mostly?" He nodded. "A girl."

" _The_ girl," she corrected knowingly.

He glanced at her and then away, brows furrowed. "I thought so."

"Since you're here and she's not, and since you've got your broody face down pat, I'm going to venture a guess that the war is already lost…"

His jaw ticked. "I broke up with her."

"You _had_ her?" she said, voice full of questioning. She was used to the 'wanting from afar but never getting' dilemma, so this was new. "Then… _why?_ "

He clenched his teeth, glaring at the bar top before finally turning to face her again. "I didn't have _all_ of her."

Chloe's heart thumped hard in her chest, not for the first time wishing a man could feel that way about her. "So a little _isn't_ better than nothing?"

"I thought so…" He sighed, turning his head to the side, "at first."

Chloe thought back to her many relationships, to wanting and never having, to having and knowing she'd have to let go. To Jimmy when he was sweet on Kara. To Clark when he wanted Lana, and later Lois. She remember wanting so desperately to be enough for them and never being that. And the moment she knew she wasn't going to be the piney best friend, or the girl who held on to a boyfriend who didn't want her as wholly as she wanted him. When she walked away from sweet, goofy Jimmy. When she put away her feelings for Clark and took up the roll as best friend and nothing more. And when she finally said goodbye to the both of them and the life she might've had or even wanted with them, instead hitting the road in search of purpose and herself and a series of mysteries just waiting to be cracked.

"You shouldn't settle," she told him decidedly. "I tried that."

"With Clark?" he wondered.

She half-smiled. "I guess I was a little obvious, huh?"

He tipped his head. "What girl doesn't love a hero?"

"You say that like you've never been one." She frowned, gazing at him thoughtfully. "Why do I get the feeling you're wrong?"

He shrugged, turning his eyes away. "Do you think…?" He trailed off.

"What?" she prompted.

"I don't know, I…" He shook his head. "I was thinking out loud, I guess."

"Then finish where you were going," she suggested, smiling.

"I just… wondered if you thought heroics ever… balanced out the bad stuff." He purposely didn't look at her and she could tell.

"You mean, like… If it made up for any mistakes you might've made?" She watched his profile, the tense lines of his face, of his neck and shoulders.

He nodded.

"Did you ever ask for forgiveness? Or did you pull the heroics card _because_ you wanted to make up for your past?"

He frowned. "I did it because I loved her… I—I _saved_ her because I loved her… And—" He turned to look at her, his brows furrowed. "Because it was the right thing to do."

"I think everybody makes mistakes. Some… _larger_ than others." She nodded. "But ultimately, I think it comes down to who you are in the moment… Who you _choose_ to be in the end and not the beginning." She shrugged lightly. "A villain is only a villain until he's redeemed."

"And then?" His mouth twisted darkly. "What is he after, but a failed villain?"

He looked so tired that Chloe hardly thought it through before her hand was braced on his forearm, squeezing. "He's just a person. A man." She stared at him. "He is what he wants to be. What he _decides_ to be."

Stefan stared at her hand against his bare skin, the sleeve of his shirt rolled up. "And if he always sees himself as a monster…?"

"Then he either gets his eyes checked or he changes his future…" She shook her head. "Monsters are made, not born. Outside influences are only there as long as they're _allowed_ to be there. So you cut ties to whatever's making you into what you don't want to be, you start over… And then one day it's not a monster in the mirror anymore."

"And if what makes him a monster isn't something he can walk away from…? Instead it—it's a _part_ of him… It _is_ him."

"Then all that's left is control… And acceptance."

He turned to look at her, brows knit. " _Acceptance?_ Of the monster inside him?"

Chloe stared at him, curiosity having already begun to put the pieces together. "If you're always fighting it, there's no real winner or loser, just a constant, endless war. But if you accept that part of you and you understand that it's there but it doesn't always need to be in control, then you have a better chance."

"Of what?"

"Survival." She shrugged. "You can't live your life as two people, constantly pitted against each other. But if, for instance, you reach out and say, 'Hey, you're a part of me. Not a part I really like, but you're there. Now you do your thing and I'm gonna do mine.' Which is where control plays its part."

He thought it over a moment, face folded in thought. "And if my control snaps?"

"You start again."

He sighed, shoulders slumping.

"I bet you're really wishing you had that curable rabies strain right about now," she mused.

He turned dark eyes on her, brows raised in surprise, even a little worry.

She slid her hand down and tapped her forefinger against his ring. "For infinity, or eternity, either way…" She shook her head. "You know, after all the years you've probably had for working on that secret-keeping thing, you let that one slip pretty easy."

He stared at her finger on his ring. "You're easy to talk to," he said quietly.

She smiled. "Trick of the trade." She moved to draw her hand back, but his fingers caught hers. She watched him curiously.

"You're not afraid."

Her eyes fell. "I only figured it out a few minutes ago…"

"During our conversation about monsters and a lack of control," he reminded.

She laughed shortly. "When you put it that way…"

"You _should_ be scared," he warned her.

"Why? Because curiosity killed the cat?" She raised a brow. "I think by now we can agree that I'm not your average cat…"

"The meteor rocks…" He turned his eyes toward her, face still down-turned toward their hands. "You were infected?"

"It comes and goes when it pleases," she admitted. "Sometimes I'm not even sure it's there anymore… It's not the kind of power I can call on at will or test just for the fun of it."

His eyes narrowed. "But you've never lost control? Never… _killed_ anybody?"

"I was lucky." She shrugged. "Or, at least so far…" She knocked her free fist against the wood bar. "You can never be too careful," she mused with a smile.

He snorted. "Said the woman sitting at an empty bar with a vampire."

The word repeated in her head.

Vampire.

 _Vampire_.

 **Vampire**.

Her eyes left his then and darted around the bar; he was right. The others had moved on, left, even the bar tender seemed to have moved on into the back; apparently he wasn't worried about them robbing him, that or he cleaned out the till and couldn't care less about what alcohol was left.

A chill ran down her spine, but she couldn't be sure it wasn't from the cool slip of air that whispered past her, touching her skin, warm and damp from the muggy air that filled the bar and clung to her. Now that she was paying more attention, she noticed he wasn't sweating while she could feel drops of sweat dabbing her upper lip and dribbling down her back, wetting her shirt. Her hair was stuck to her temples and down her neck and she imagined her face was flushed, red; she checked the mirrored wall to be sure. Sitting next to him, she thought she looked like a wilting flower, while he was still immaculate.

"I choose my battles wisely," she murmured. "Vampire vying for control, trying not to be a monster, kind of speaks volumes about the company I'm keeping." She turned to face him once more. "Unless poor, tortured soul is your shtick, and then I'd tell you your acting skills are above average."

His lips curled at the corners. "Who said you were even my type anyway?"

She scoffed, feigning offense. "You've got something against O-Positive?" she teased.

"I prefer to stick to animals, or blood bags if necessary…"

She raised a brow. "Prefer to, or it helps with that whole _control_ issue?"

"You're taking this _way_ too well," he told her, brows raised, but he nodded. "Mostly for control. A little because drinking from people has a way of making me feel guilty. Usually because they end up dead."

"Even willing participants?" she wondered.

"Can't say I have too many of those." He shook his head. "Which is probably good, because then I might get close to them. And when I snap and kill them, it'd be even harder to get over."

"Way to think positively." She bumped his elbow with hers. "Maybe that's part of your problem…"

He frowned questioningly.

"You should have more faith in yourself…" She shrugged. "If you're always _expecting_ to snap, then you _will_. It's like laying down arms before you've even been challenged."

His brows furrowed. "I never looked at it that way."

"You learn something new every day." She winked. "And just how many days _has_ it been, anyway?" She pushed her half-empty beer bottle away. "You said you were older than I suspected, so what's the number?"

"Let's just say I was alive during The Civil War," he told her.

Chloe's eyes widened. "I feel like I just hit a historian's mother load," she said, drawing a deep laugh from him.

He turned to look at her over his shoulder once more. "This has been fun," he admitted. "Probably more than I've had in… a _really_ long time."

She grinned. "Likewise."

"How long are you in town?"

"I officially finished solving the latest mystery this afternoon… It was the Sheriff in the librarian's office, with a musket."

" _Musket?_ " he repeated, eyes wide. "You're kidding."

She shook her head. "Nope." With a grin, she rested her chin on her upturned hand, elbow on the bar. "He broke into the local museum, which is one disturbingly small room I might add, stole the artifact, went _back_ to the library and knocked off his ex-girlfriend, who just-so-happened to be a big history buff and was leaving town the following week to pursue a career in the city… She was working at the library in the meantime and the Sherriff took broken heart to a whole new level."

Stefan nodded slowly. "Wow, okay…"

"See?" She shrugged. "Here's to having a broken heart and not shooting your ex in hers with a musket."

He burst into laughter, his head falling, shaking side to side.

She grinned, feeling a warmth pool in her stomach at the sound of his amusement, at the smile stretching his handsome face.

When he looked back up, he had his bottom lip trapped beneath his teeth. "I'm glad I met you."

"I like to think I leave an impression."

He nodded, expression softening. "You do."

She stared at him a long moment. "You're not so bad yourself."

"What, with my poor-me sob story and inner-monster issue?" He waved a dismissive hand, ring glinting in the low lighting. "Mystic Falls had its off days, but I think Smallville has us beat."

"You underestimate yourself, Stefan." She shook her head. "And in the end, I don't think a girl and the whole dual-personality problem is everything that makes you who you are…" She frowned, tipping her head wonderingly. "Who _were_ you before?"

His brows furrowed as he turned his eyes off to stare distantly, thoughtfully. "Sometimes I can't remember…"

"So who are you now? Let's say you take your ex and the monster-thing out of the equation?" She raised a brow. "Who is Stefan?"

His eyes dropped to the bar. "Right now… A traveler."

"Destination?"

His mouth pursed. " _Away_."

"So you're on the road trip of your life, the world at your disposal… And you choose Backwater, America?" She snorted. "Before you leave, remind me to buy you a map and write you up a list of must-do's." Her eyes lit up. "Better even…" She grabbed up her purse from the bar and rifled through it, coming up with a pen and a pad of paper, filled with notes and clues from her mystery-solving of late.

"Let's make you a bucket list."

Stefan smiled wryly. "You know being a vampire kind of defeats the purpose of that list, right?"

"You're not immortal, are you? Vampires can still die. You know…" She twirled her pen and then made a stabbing motion in the air. "Stabby-stabby, no more Stefan, right?"

He snorted. "Comforting. But you make a good point." He used his forefinger to turn her pen away from his direction.

She smirked at the pun before dropping her hand down to the paper. "All right, so let's start somewhere easy…" Leaving the pen on the paper for a moment, she reached back and gathered up her hair, pulling it off her neck, where sweat had collected and had tendrils of blonde hair clinging. Pulling an elastic from her bag, she tied it up in a knot and raised a brow at him. "Okay, what's something you've always wanted to do but haven't?"

His eyes, which had been centered on her hair and the quick work her hands had made of it, fell, elusive happiness fleeing once more. "Find love…" He pursed his lips. " _Real_ love…" he amended. "The kind that doesn't wither or fade…" His brows furrowed. "Or turn in my brother's direction."

Chloe frowned for him, before scrawling across the paper, _Find my soul mate_.

"Now something cheerier," she told him decidedly, finding his far-off, brooding expression to be a mood killer when she wanted to brighten up his undead life as much as possible. "Like a place you've always wanted to go, maybe somewhere the alligators don't outnumber the people…"

He chuckled under his breath, but nodded. "I think I've had enough of small towns," he mused. "Maybe somewhere big, bright, full of noise and lights…"

"No more weird?" she asked, watching as ink met paper, scrawling his number two with an easy flourish.

"A break is nice," he sighed. "But eventually…?" He shook his head. "When you think about your future and where you'll settle down for good, do you know where it is?"

Chloe thought it over. Once upon a time, she'd imagined her whole life unfolding in Metropolis, with her sitting happily at a desk at The Daily Planet, her name under every week's big headline. But she hadn't been back to Metropolis in years, packing her things and hitting the road with nothing but what she had in the bank and an incurable need to Scooby out whatever mystery presented itself.

She knew Lois had taken over for her, filling in that dream with her own tenacity and a whole lot of spell check. In fact, when Chloe really thought it through, Lois had fit into her dream better than she ever had. She got the desk, the byline, and Clark Kent too. While Chloe had moved from job to job, never quite finding her place, eventually accepting that her life would be its own moving Wall of Weird. Some cases were just the average human-kills-human in a fit of jealous rage, like the Sheriff and his victim, while others followed that supernatural line that always found a way to weave into her life.

Even now. Sitting at a bar in Nowheresville, with nothing but her own self-provided pat on the back for a case closed, and she ran into a vampire. It was like she was sending out a beacon for the weird, and when that didn't work, she went looking for it.

"I don't know…" she finally admitted. "I think I gave up on planning my future a long time ago."

"Yeah?" He frowned. "Life on the road's probably hard on you…" He stared at her searchingly, gaze wandering from her face and down her body.

She felt that pit of warm heat stirring in her stomach. "It has its downsides… Crappy motels and a lackluster diet being two of them."

"But it's got to be exciting… Solving murder mysteries wherever you go…" His brows wiggled.

She grinned. "Oh, I'd say the adrenaline rush is up there with the best feelings I've ever known." She nodded. "There's something about picking up all the puzzle pieces and finding out where they fit, how it happened, whether it was just a cruel twist of fate, human intervention, or something that crawled out of the deep, dark closet to wreak havoc on us mere mortals…" She nodded, playing with one of her earrings, tugging and turning it absently. "And then it's over…" She let her eyes dance around the bar once more. "Which brings me here for a victory drink before I move on to the next one."

"And where _is_ the next big adventure?" he wondered.

"So far?" She shook her head. "I don't have one." She smiled before tapping a finger against her note pad. "Besides helping a vampire write his bucket list, that is."

His eyes dropped to the paper. "Add 'solve a mystery and see what the big deal is.'"

She grinned, scrawling it and adding three exclamation points.

Stefan reached out then, leaning in close enough that all she could smell as she breathed in was him. Not that swampy water lapping at the dock leading down from the bar or the muggy heat clinging to her skin or the dusty bar itself; just clean, masculine, Stefan. It was a heady scent that had her skin buzzing, her thighs tingling, her stomach clenching. As he drew away, her eyes wandered over his face, hard lines tensed, his jaw looking fine enough to nibble on. Quickly, she looked down, and found, written beneath her latest entry, " _With Chloe_."

She smiled wonderingly as she looked back at him.

He shrugged one shoulder, hangs hanging loosely between his legs. "I should probably start with a pro, right?"

With a light laugh, she nodded. "It would be my pleasure to teach you the ways of Scoobying," she told him, mouth curling.

He gazed at her. "Something to look forward to."

There was a clatter then, drawing their attention, and they turned to see the bartender frowning at them.

"Closing time," he grunted.

Chloe felt a rush of disappointment hit her hard, but she stood from the stool as expected and reached for her purse to pay.

"I've got it," Stefan assured her, his warm hand on her shoulder as he dug his wallet out from his pants pocket.

"Oh, it's really not necessary," she assured, shaking her head. "I—"

"As a thank you," he told her meaningfully, staring her square in the eye.

She was momentarily distracted by the heavy look on his face, so she didn't have time to react when the bartender took the money Stefan offered, paying for both their drinks. He motioned to the door then and bowed his head. "Ladies first."

As she stepped through the door and off the wooden platform to the grass below, she felt her boots mold to the damp ground, where the dirt was just about mud. In front of her was the swamp-like river, with the rickety dock and the moon casting its eerie glow. Tall, dark trees, with branches gnarled and reaching, lined the water's edge. To her right, past a field of grass and the parking lot, she could see her motel in the distance. Knowing she would be drinking, she'd left her car behind and thought now that it was a smart idea since the night air was a lot cooler, feeling good on her skin and filling her lungs with each deep breath.

Stefan kept her company at her side as they began the trek across the field. Arms crossed behind his back, he looked over at her, head ducked somewhat. "Guess my bucket list is a small one, huh?"

She stopped then to dig through her purse, finding the pad of paper and tearing off his list, handing it over to him. "You should keep adding to it," she told him. "Just because you have an undetermined amount of time, possibly forever, possibly an unexpected stake when you least expect it, doesn't mean you shouldn't enjoy yourself…" She turned her head to look up at him, highlighted a faint blue in the light of the moon. "It's all about who you choose to be in the moment, right?"

He reached out, taking the paper from her outstretched fingers, his own grazing hers, that same electric shock zapping through her. As her breath left her this time, on a stuttered gasp from parted lips, his eyes fell, focused on her mouth.

"This is probably one of those moments," he murmured.

She stared up at him from beneath her lashes. "Only if you want it to be."

He swallowed, and then his hand was cupping her face, his thumb brushing over her cheek. "I want it." As he stepped closer, Chloe felt his body press to hers, her own frame seeming to shake with anticipation. His fingers skimmed over her ear, tucking hair behind it, tracing her earlobe. And then his forehead touched hers, warm, and his nose grazed hers just a fraction of a second before his lips were on hers.

Brief, soft, sipping, before suddenly it was hard, her lips parting and slanting against his, meeting, fitting. And that electricity she'd felt at the mere touch of their hands, skyrocketed. It radiated down her body and back up, a flash of heat that rolled through her. She felt her hands shake as they found his chest, sliding up hard, defined planes before settling on his shoulders and squeezing. Stefan's lips were smooth, his tongue reaching for hers, dabbing at her lips, at the back of her teeth, the roof of her mouth, was hot, and his teeth were just on the edge of being sharp, nipping, grazing, tugging. Each desperate breath she let out, he seemed to suck in, and vice versa. Her fingers danced up his shoulders before reaching and curling in his hair. She felt the pressure, the heat, of his hand sliding down her neck slowly before flowing down, the tips of his fingers following her spine until his whole hand was at the small of her back and pressing, as if pulling her in closer when there was little to no space between them as it was.

For the life of her, she couldn't remember ever being kissed like this. There were sweet kisses and hot kisses, soft and hard, but there was something else, something more when Stefan's lips met hers, something she couldn't define.

She wondered, briefly, if maybe it was just because of how refreshingly honest she'd been with him, sharing her life in vivid detail when she'd always been so guarded, so certain that anybody she'd meet would be skeptical of her tales, wondering if maybe she'd escaped the loony bin. Or maybe it was that supernatural connection; him being a vampire and her being a meteor freak forever interested in all things weird or unexplainable.

All she knew for sure was that his fingers on her skin, on her neck, her shoulder, the sliver of her waist between her jeans and her shirt, were like fire. A scalding dance that her body pressed into and moved away from at the same time, making her rock side to side and forward and back, melding into him even harder. She was gasping into his mouth, her swollen lips parted, brow furrowed, chest aching for more air, but he only suckled her lips, kissed the corners and down, across her chin.

She felt like a teenager, on the verge of just giving into hormones for the sake of seeing what was going on beneath his tailored shirt. She could feel the strength of his body, his wide shoulders, and she knew she could happily spend hours, _days_ , locked up in her motel room devouring every inch of him. She squeezed her thighs at the thought of him laid out before her, clothes scattered across the floor.

Would he drink from her? she wondered. It sent a thrill of interest and then fear through her. What would it feel like? It had hurt when Lana sunk her teeth into her; blindingly painful, in fact. But somehow, having felt his teeth with her tongue, having felt the soft suction of his lips, she thought it'd be different. Maybe that was Twilight-induced fantasy though. Weren't vampires killers? Hadn't Stefan himself professed his own self and every one of his kind _monsters?_ Did all monsters kiss this wonderfully?

When he finally drew back, his forehead met hers, his eyes closed, breath panting from his parted mouth.

She was shaking still; in fact she thought her knees were knocking.

"I can hear your heart," he whispered. His hand slid from where it was on her waist, gliding up to lay between her breasts. His fanned fingers began tapping in tune with her racing heartbeat, reaching the bare skin above the scooped neck of her shirt. He licked his lips. "I bet… you taste… _incredible_ …"

Chloe paused.

Stefan's fingers tripped.

"Skipped a beat," he told her.

When his eyes opened, the whites blood red, veins had spider-webbed out from beneath them, seeming to pulse and move. "I don't want to hurt you," he told her, brows knotted, anguish twisting his features. But as he bared his teeth, they looked much sharper, much deadlier than those her tongue had just been dancing over. "You… should probably… _run_."

Chloe felt her heart beating rapidly, but for an entirely different kind of reason.

Stefan's fingers still kept the beat.

Her eyes dropped as if to see it for herself, but they were standing so close she couldn't. When she looked back up, she said, "Why do I get the feeling that's really not going to help?"

His lips curled in a snarl. "Because it isn't."

Instinctively, she still tried. Stumbling back a few steps, leaving him with his arms still up in the air, fingers dancing as if still following her heartbeat. Her feet moved, adrenaline pumping, and she raced across the field, eyes set on her motel room. But Stefan was fast; he was at her back, arms banded around her waist, before she'd gotten far at all. His face buried at the crook of her deep and he breathed in deeply, one of his hands reaching up, pushing loose tendrils of her hair from where it was knotted, back and away with an odd sort of tenderness.

"I'm sorry," he told her, his voice thick, heavy, full or remorse.

She tried elbowing him in the stomach, stomping on his foot, struggling out of his grip, but it was all for naught. He was too strong, too _deep_.

Acceptance washed over her, cold and heavy. She wondered if her nine lives really were up.

"You don't want to do this, Stefan," she reminded him. "Control, remember? Fighting it?"

"You're right," he agreed, nodding. "I don't."

"Then don't."

"It's not…" He shook his head, breathing heavier now. "You don't know what this hunger feels like. It—It's mindless, destructive, _consuming_." He pressed an open-mouth kiss to her neck, but she could feel him shaking.

Chloe closed her eyes. "There's no reasoning with this side of you, is there?"

His tongue trailed up the curve of her neck and she couldn't help the answering press of her body back into his, betraying the fear and uncertainty that riddled her mind.

" _No_."

As his fangs pierced her skin, a silent scream escaped her, her eyes flying open, turned up toward the dark sky.

His hand slid down, fingers tapping at her chest, following the staccato of her raging heartbeat as he drank from her.

There was pain; deep, searing, sharp. But then, as quickly as it was on her, it was gone, replaced with a blinding energy that boiled beneath her skin, pumping through her, making her fingers twitch and her hips rock. It spread across her body like curling fingers; swirling, moving, dancing inside her. She felt it, like hands cupping her breasts, molding; her nipples pebbled, tightened. It spread lower, like fire in her belly, licking at her, fanning out over her thighs and reaching up until she felt herself become wet, her clit throbbing. She arched her hips back and felt Stefan pressing against her; the proof that he was feeling the same incredible energy was in the erection against her backside.

She could feel his tongue lapping at her skin, his teeth seeming to pulse inside her neck. She reached her arm back and curled it around his head, fingers weaving through his hair. As much as she knew he was draining her, literally stealing the blood, the _life_ , from her body, a part of her, apparently very much attached to her libido, just wanted _more_.

Her hips undulated, searching out satisfaction and finding nothing but the unmovable body behind her and cool, empty air in front of her. She needed relief. She wasn't thinking about her life and the soon to be lack of it, instead wanting something to sate the heat coiling in her belly.

As if he knew, Stefan's hand slid away from her waist and dipped down; he unbuttoned her jeans with a quick, easy jerk, and then his hand had slid beneath, bypassing her underwear to curl beneath and cup her.

She let out a gasp and her legs parted, heels digging hard into the soft earth below as his finger found and rubbed her clit in one hard swipe. His ring- and pointer finger parted her folds as his middle digit started drawing circles and tapping randomly. His hand, once following her rapidly slowing heartbeat, fell lower, slipping beneath her shirt and bra to cup one breast, palm rasping over her nipple.

She cried out, one of her hands gripping his bicep, her nails digging in hard.

His thumb pressed against her nipple and rubbed, twisting it in circles around the pebbled center.

She felt flashes of heat through her body, her mind seeming to escape her for a moment, leaving her dizzy and breathless. His hands worked her into a desperate frenzy while his teeth continued to drink their fill. She should've been embarrassed, fearful, terrified for her life, but all she wanted was that blinding orgasm she could feel on the very cusp of happening. He closed his fingers around her clit at the second knuckle and then drew them up slowly, the pressure and the slick movement of his fingers was enough to send her over; she could feel his hand kneading her breast as she came; hips pressing back into him as she broke, shattered, lights flashing behind her eyes.

She could feel herself sliding to the ground and realized dimly that he was too, holding her still, the both of them panting. He wasn't drinking anymore, instead his tongue was licking lightly at the holes in her neck, his arms wrapping around her, embracing as she leaned back into him, eyes half-lidded, drowsy. Mini shock waves still exploded inside her, making her twitch.

She could feel the wet ground seeping into the knees of her jeans as she knelt, resting back against him.

He nuzzled her neck with his nose before nipping lightly, playfully even, at her skin.

It was a few minutes before he lifted her up; she laid in his arms in a weird sort of haze; warm and comfortable and empty of fear or worry. She gazed up at the moon in the dark, star-scattered sky, as he walked across the field, her body seemingly weightless in his arms. Minutes later, he laid her down on his Motel bed and swiped her hair back from her face. Her eyes followed his fingers before meeting his gaze, staring down at her, blood still staining his lips, guilt riding his handsome features hard.

She wouldn't have been surprised, even expected it, if he left the room then and there and she never saw Stefan again. Instead, he walked to the bathroom and collected a warm cloth, when he returned he washed her neck, taking care to be gentle as he swiped slowly, cleaning every inch of her skin where her blood had poured. His thumb skittered over the sensitive spots his teeth had pierced. And when he was done, he laid down on the bed next to her, hands clasped at his waist.

"Does it always feel like this?" she wondered, brows furrowed.

"How's it feel on your end?" he asked, his voice deep.

She turned her head, though she felt like she was boneless, barely capable of more than just breathing. "It's hard to separate the leftover orgasm from everything, but…" She licked her lips, eyes dropping thoughtfully. "It hurt at first… _A lot_ …"

He looked at her, shame twisting his face, an apology at the edge of his lips.

"And then…" She smiled faintly. "Then it was like I could feel you everywhere… Like your hands and your mouth were just… _everywhere_ …" She closed her eyes. "And well, then your fingers _were_ everywhere."

He didn't answer at first.

When she finally opened her eyes, he was still staring at her.

"It's never been like that." He turned onto his side and reached out, touching her neck delicately. "You should be dead… I—I kept drinking but you just… You wouldn't dry up."

She raised a brow. "Sorry…?"

He shook his head quickly. "That's the first time I've drunk from someone, been _filled_ by one person, and they _lived_ …"

She wagged a finger, but the movement was slow. "Don't count your eggs too fast, I still feel a bit woozy…"

He shook his head. "That meteor power you told me about…" He reached out and smoothed her hair off her face. "What was it?"

Her lips curled faintly, realization hitting her hard. "Healing… Mostly others, occasionally myself…"

Brows furrowed, his eyes darted away thoughtfully. "You think…?"

"Different kind of cat," she murmured, before yawning deeply.

He rubbed at the corner of her eye, slowly drooping closed. "I never meant to hurt you," he told her thickly.

"At the moment, the orgasm is making me think it was worth the pain," she admitted, wrinkling her nose. "I might argue that in the morning."

His jaw clenched. "It's not funny."

"Mmm, it's a little funny," she hummed.

He sighed, but his fingers stroked her temple lightly.

Forcing her eyes open, she looked at him once more. "Promise me something…"

"Considering I nearly killed you, I think I owe you," he agreed.

"You won't run away," she told him.

He opened his mouth to argue.

"One day," she told him. "Give me one day and we can sort… this… out…"

She drifted away before she heard his answer, falling into a deep, heavy sleep.

She dreamed of crocodiles; or alligators, she could never tell which was which. Their teeth were stained in red, dripping, and some part of her understood that it was blood; _her_ blood. They slithered out of the water, snapping and snarling, long, scaled tails swinging behind them, and chased her into the bar. There she found Stefan waiting, lips curled in that faint smile, a beer in either hand, holding one out for her to take. _Where's our next adventure?_ he asked her, unfolding his bucket list and laying it out on the bar.

When she woke up the next morning, he wasn't there, and she couldn't remember what their next, or really, _first_ adventure was going to be.

She shoved herself up from the bed, feeling lighter than ever before. She expected there to be an ache, in her neck at the very least, but she was surprisingly relaxed. Walking to the bathroom, she immediately examined herself. Sleep had ruffled her hair, but she could care less, instead she leaned across to see her neck in the mirror, fingers probing; all that was left were two pale purple marks that could easily be confused for hickeys. Her skin was tender to the touch, but it looked like her meteor power really was still there, and getting its work cut out for it.

As she walked back into the room, she felt a distinct stab of disappointment that the bed was empty. Sure he'd tried to drain her of blood last night, but there was a part of her, mostly the stabbing curiosity that was ingrained in her, that wanted to talk to him about what had happened. And more than that, there was the part of her that had gotten to know him in the bar that felt bad for the shame that twisted his face. Yes, of course he should feel bad, but she imagined that was taken to a whole new level when it came to him. But in the end she'd asked him to stay and he hadn't. Although, what else could she expect of a self-hating vampire that had nearly killed someone he'd apparently connected to, if their conversation and kiss were anything to go by. Given what she knew about him, he was no doubt loathing himself somewhere, adding her name to a list of people he'd wronged.

With a sigh, she walked to the door. Seeing as he was in the same motel as her, she could at least return to her own room, where a shower and a change of clothes were desperately in order.

Standing in her shower, as she lathered her hair and scrubbed her body down, she couldn't help thinking of the night before, of her lack of concern or complaint while she was being drained of blood and simultaneously stimulated into an orgasm by a virtual stranger. Yes, okay, they happened to know quite a bit about each other; more, in fact, that she'd shared with many people. But that didn't change that they'd only known each other a few hours before he had his hand down her jeans and his teeth embedded in her neck.

Considering she was alive though, she had a hard time figuring out whether or not it was the worst thing that could've happened. Truth be told, she'd wanted something to happen with him; she'd just thought it would be mutual, the biting wouldn't break skin, and a bed would be involved. But beggars couldn't be choosers.

She was still drying her hair with a towel, wearing a fresh pair of jeans and a floaty top to accommodate the heat when there was a knock at the door. She checked the clock to see if it might be the janitorial staff come to kick her out of her room early so they could get in and clean up, but figured an hour would be pushing it. When she swung the door open, she was admittedly surprised to see Stefan standing there.

Her eyes widened slightly. "You didn't leave."

He shifted on his feet before pressing his hands together and shrugging. "I promised I wouldn't."

Chloe pressed the door open wider. "Come in," she told him.

He crossed the threshold and surveyed the room quickly, dismissively, before turning around to face her. "So…" He winced. "What do you remember from last night, exactly?"

"Exactly?" Closing the door, she circled him to take a seat on the edge of her bed. "A complete lack of morals and restraint, a few too many beers, a healthy dose of honesty, and oh yeah, you drinking my blood and being surprised when I wouldn't drain dry…" She narrowed her eyes thoughtfully. "I think that about covers it. Unless…" She waved a hand at him. "You have anything to add…?"

He smiled at her candid reply, ducking his head to hide his amusement, but it fled quickly and he dragged out a chair, turning it around backwards and straddling it to face her. "Last night shouldn't have happened," he told her simply.

"Which part, exactly?" She turned her eyes up in thought. "Because I feel like there were a lot of elements that you are not used to."

He stared at her thoughtfully and shook his head solemnly. "I shouldn't've told you what I am."

"Well, I _deduced_ it," she argued, "but semantics."

He bit his lip, again amused with her. "There were a lot of…" He hummed, turning his eyes away. "I think it should've just stayed one of those chance meetings..." He offered, motioning with his hand. "Where two strangers have a connection, and they—they talk and share their history before… moving on and forgetting each other." He shook his head. "Instead, we…" He pressed his hand to his chest, taking the blame. "I—"

"We kissed," she finished for him. "And you snapped and that whole control thing just went _right_ out the window…"

He glanced at her and then away, shamefully. "Which is exactly why it should've just stayed… _unknown_."

"You're a vampire," she said, nodding. "One who's apparently been around for more than a century and a half…" Her brows furrowed. "How can you stand it?" she wondered. "If all you do is let chances pass you by?"

He frowned, rearing his head back in surprise. "I have to think about other people, about their lives. I can't… I can't just throw caution to the wind whenever I feel like it. When I lose control, _people die!_ "

" _I_ didn't."

"Yes, but you're…" He waved a hand at her. "You're _different_."

"You were saying I didn't drain last night… That I should've been dead." Her eyes narrowed. "You think it was my meteor power."

He nodded. "You said it was healing… Regenerative powers could mean that as quickly as I was drinking your blood, your power was replenishing it. Or enough anyway that I could never drain you entirely. You were still weak though, enough that you passed out anyway."

"Hmm…" Eyes narrowed thoughtfully, she stared at the floor. "Is that… _all_ they did?" she asked.

He glanced up at her, eyes widened slightly. "Sorry?"

"My blood… I guess I'm wondering if it… _affected_ you."

He cleared his throat, lips folded. "Uh, well…" He reached up and scratched behind his ear. "I—I feel…" His brows furrowed. "I feel _stronger_ today."

She raised a brow. "Stronger… _how?_ "

"I don't know." He shook his head. "Human blood has always made us stronger."

"But you try to stick to animals, right?"

He nodded. "Yes, and that's a struggle," he admitted. "When I drink human blood, I get…" He turned his eyes away. "I lose control. I—I'm _always_ hungry. _Always_ thinking of the next time I'll eat."

She stared at him warily then. "Are you… _hungry_ , right now?"

He raised his eyes to hers and then said very seriously, " _No_. And frankly, that…" He sighed before reaching up and running a hand through his hair. "It's unusual."

She snorted. "Unusual is my specialty."

He half-smiled. "What I mean is that… I seem to be getting all the benefits of drinking human blood and—"

Catching on, she finished, "None of the down-sides."

"Yes."

"So what, my blood's the new Special K for vampires?" she wondered.

"I don't know." He shook his head. "Since nobody's ever drunk from you, except that friend of yours, who apparently wasn't even my kind of vampire, I don't know _what_ it means."

Chloe nodded, bracing her hands on her knees. "Okay… Something else to add to my long list of peculiarities…" She smiled a bright, sarcastic smile. "Stefan's smorgasbord."

"Stefan's temporary, one-time only…" He rolled a hand dismissively, unwilling to call her a 'buffet'.

She grinned.

Resting his arms on the back of the chair, he shrugged. "So… where do we go from here?" he wondered.

Chloe stared at him a long moment, mind still whirling with the influx of information she'd been given, before finally she wondered, "You still have that list?"

He nodded, before reaching into his coat pocket and pulling it out. He smiled awkwardly as he handed it over, as if embarrassed that he had it on him. "I just…" He shrugged. "In case I thought of something to add," he told her.

She smiled. "So I was thinking…" She turned the list over to face him. "Maybe we could try that adventure thing…"

He raised a brow, surprised. "You always court death like this, or…?"

She shrugged. "We have a pretty unhealthy obsession with each other, me and Death."

Stefan licked his lips, eyes set on the paper between her fingers. "We hardly know each other," he reminded.

"We know the basics. You're a vampire and I'm a meteor freak that can't be killed by your affinity for sticking your teeth in things." She wiggled the paper. "I don't have a mystery to be solved, but you need an adventure and I get the feeling we're bound to run into one. So? Stefan I-never-learned-you-last-name…" She grinned encouragingly. "Take a chance with me?"

His eyes rose slowly to meet hers and this time he didn't stifle his amusement, smiling at her as he bowed his head. "Stefan Salvatore, your protégé in mystery solving."

"Chloe Sullivan," she told him brightly. "Happy to be your guide."

And with that, an agreement was made. A team formed. And the boundaries of life and death, of love and friendship, were about to be tested.


End file.
